Randy E. Richmond
TO THE MISSING
You are the sons, the brothers and the dads.
Your names are proudly worn on the wrists of your comrades.
When we sit down to supper, you are the empty chairs.
You’re spoken of with much concern, though you must think nobody cares.
You’ve paid a price for all of us, the cost of being free.
In this land where every last one of you should be.
You’re the blood upon our flag, the ones we left behind.
The prisoners not returned to us, the ones we could not find.
Your fates remain a mystery that leads our minds to roam.
We still hope against most odds that someday you’ll come home.
You are those who went to war and haven’t yet returned.
And you are those whose bridges never will be burned.
Reported sightings of you have come in through the years.
Each time mothers tremble with hope and wives shed new tears.
So if you still live and breathe, please know you’re not ignored.
If not, may you rest peacefully in the arms of our dear Lord.
©Copyright 1990 by Randy E. Richmond